On the Periphery
by CinderellaAtTheBall
Summary: Drabbles featuring minor or less popular characters.
1. Burnt Toast

**MC4A**

**Ship (Team):** Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom

**List (Prompt):** n/a

**Word Count:** 427

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**Burnt Toast**

The toast was burned, but Hannah pretended that it wasn't. There was no way she could have crushed the proud look on her boyfriend's face.

"This is great, Neville," she lied. "Very...crunchy." As if on cue, her teeth chomped down on a particularly blackened piece.

Neville beamed and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm so glad you like it. I was really worried, you know, I thought it looked a little dark but I guess you can't even tell!"

Hannah forced herself to smile and shake her head as she continued to chew. "Nope!"

She swallowed and reached for the glass of pumpkin juice on the tray, but Neville beat her to it.

"Here," he said, holding it out with such enthusiasm that some of the liquid sloshed onto Hannah's pastel blue shirt. "Oh, sorry!" He quickly pulled out his wand.

"Leave it," Hannah said hastily, reaching for her own wand and casting a quick Tergeo. The last time she had allowed Neville to clean a spill, he had been so anxious to do so that he had accidentally dyed the carpet a bright shade of crimson. While Hannah wasn't particularly attached to said carpet, she didn't want to find out what else Neville might do to the flat in a clumsy attempt to help. "See? No harm done."

Neville blushed and looked at his feet. "Sorry," he mumbled again.

Hannah took a sip of juice. "Neville," she said gently, settling the cup back on the tray, "it's _fine_. Really." After another nibble of the dry, crunchy bread, she asked, "What's the occasion, anyway? I'm not complaining, but I certainly had no reason to think I'd be served breakfast in bed this morning."

If possible, Neville looked even more embarrassed. "It's—erm, it's pretty stupid," he began, unable to meet her eyes.

Hannah set down her toast and looked curiously at him. "I promise I won't laugh, Neville." She took his hand and squeezed it, willing him to open up.

"Well, the thing is, erm, we went on our first date three months ago today," he said haltingly.

Hannah's eyes widened. Three months had flown by quickly, but that wasn't why she was so surprised. "I can't believe you remembered and I didn't!"

"I wrote the date down," Neville confessed, allowing her to sweep him into a hug, "so that I wouldn't forget."

"That is so sweet." She gave him a chaste kiss on the lips before adding, "Happy three month anniversary, Neville."

He pulled away and smiled at her. "Happy three month anniversary, Hannah."


	2. Owl'll Be There For You

**MC4A**

**Fall Bingo: **C2 (owl)

**Word count: **519

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**Owl'll Be There For You**

Percy stroked Hermes' head gently and sighed. The screech owl looked at him with big, soulful caramel eyes. It was almost as if he was asking Percy to confide in him. Percy sighed again. "Sometimes I feel as though you're the only one that gets me, Hermes," he murmured. "Which is silly, because you're an _owl_."

He let his hand fall back to his side, and Hermes let out an indignant hoot. Percy glanced over at his desk, where his report on the thickness of cauldron bottoms lay. "Sorry, old chap, but I've got work to do."

He sank heavily into his desk chair. Hermes fluttered over a moment later and settled onto his shoulder, hooting softly. Percy chuckled. The weight of his owl was somehow reassuring to him. It made him feel like he wasn't completely alone.

He knew what his family thought of his work — that it was pretentious and more than a little boring — and while he was able to tune them out most of the time, sometimes he felt completely and undeniably lonely. Even in a crowded house, he couldn't seem to connect with anyone but Hermes, and an owl didn't really count as far as Percy was concerned.

Now wasn't the time to think about his inability to fit in with people, however. Mr. Crouch wasn't expecting this report until Friday, but Percy had assured him it would be finished by Tuesday. That gave him two more days to cross-check the data on the thickness of cauldrons imported from foreign countries and write up his concluding remarks.

After adjusting his glasses and setting up his lamp so that it lit his parchment _just so_, Percy set to work. For a time, the only noises in the room were that of his quill scratching the parchment and his notes rustling as he looked through them.

Suddenly, however, Percy heard the unmistakable sounds of his mother yelling. Hermes squawked in alarm and flew off to his perch in the corner of the room. Percy huffed and tried to ignore the noise, but his mother's voice was difficult to drown out. He turned to Hermes. "Fred and George up to no good again, I reckon," he said, shaking his head.

He returned his eyes to his report, but his ears were betraying him. Fred and George had indeed been up to something involving fake wands and joke shop plans. Percy groaned and wished, not for the first time, that his room wasn't on the second floor. He threw down his quill and rubbed at his eyes.

"This is hopeless," he muttered. "Completely hopeless."

As though sensing Percy's despair, Hermes flew back over and landed on his arm. Percy stroked his head again, watching as the owl closed his eyes in pure bliss. This was a nice way to take a break, Percy realized. Just sitting and petting Hermes was incredibly relaxing.

"Lucky I've got you, huh?" Percy told him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I daresay you were the best present I've ever gotten, Hermes."

Hermes let out a satisfied hoot at that.


	3. Worst First Flying Lesson

_A Professor!AU starring one of my faves and an OC I used in Quick to Judge._

* * *

**Worst First Flying Lesson**

It was only her first day as Hogwarts' new flying instructor and already, Angelina was certain that she was going to be canned.

Somehow, despite all of her warnings and precautions, a little Hufflepuff named Vivian Anderson had managed to fly completely out of bounds — all the way up to the Astronomy Tower.

Angelina had flown up after her as soon as she realized the poor girl was in distress, but she wasn't fast enough to save her from crashing through the parapet surrounding the tower.

"Oh, Merlin," she whispered now, leaning over the girl's body. Vivian's leg was sticking out at an unnatural angle — likely broken, Angelina thought — and she was crying so hard that she didn't seem to notice Angelina's presence. "Miss Anderson? Vivian?"

Vivian gave no sign that she had heard her. In fact, her sobs only grew louder. Angelina sighed. There was no point asking any further questions, it seemed, and if Vivian's leg _was_ broken, she needed the Hospital Wing. At the very least, Madam Pomfrey could look her over and make sure everything was in working order. Angelina pulled out her wand to conjure a stretcher, then levitated the first-year onto it.

She paused. The steps up to the tower would be too difficult to navigate with a stretcher — they were too narrow. After a moment, she raised her wand again and sent her horse Patronus galloping off to Madam Pomfrey's office with an explanation of the situation. The matron would have to treat the girl in the tower instead.

Several minutes passed, and Vivian's crying did not lessen in volume. Angelina tried her best to whisper some soothing words, but apparently they did no good, so she sat back and prayed that Madam Pomfrey would arrive soon.

Finally, she heard the older witch huffing and puffing on the stairs and stood to greet her. "Thank you for coming so quickly," she said.

Madam Pomfrey nodded and, spotting the stretcher, immediately headed towards it. "Of course. There was no way you could safely bring her to me, Miss Johnson."

Angelina felt as though she was right back in school again, but she didn't comment, instead standing back to allow the matron to work. Madam Pomfrey had brought a small bag of supplies, and she opened this with a tap of her wand. A series of medical objects flew out and arranged themselves neatly on the small table that appeared out of thin air.

Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue. "Yes, this leg is broken. I'll mend it here and then bring her to the Hospital Wing for further examination. You may return to your class, Miss Johnson."

Angelina suddenly remembered the group of first years she had left unattended and gulped. With her luck, they would have destroyed half the pitch by now. She grabbed her broom, bid Madam Pomfrey a hasty goodbye, and flew back down to her students. Thankfully, in the time that she was gone, they hadn't managed to do anything more than hover a few feet off the ground. Most of them weren't even paying attention to their brooms, and were instead chatting with their classmates.

"Sorry about that," she said breezily, landing in front of the group. "Vivian will be just fine, Madam Pomfrey will make sure of that. Now, let's resume our lesson."

There were no more mishaps during the rest of the lesson, much to Angelina's relief. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if she was going to recieve a summons from Professor McGonagall, or a Howler from Vivian's parents. As she packed away the brooms at the end of the class period, she decided to go to the Hospital Wing and make sure that the girl was okay. It was the least she could do.

* * *

Word count: 632


	4. Best Day Ever

**Best Day Ever**

The day Ron received his Hogwarts letter started out much like any other. Percy was in his room, nose to the grindstone as usual despite it being the summer holiday. Fred and George were locked up in their room, blowing stuff up — no surprises there either. Ron wasn't sure where Ginny was, but he thought that she might be outside playing with the gnomes as that was a new favorite pastime of hers. Ron himself was in his room, daydreaming about playing for the Chudley Cannons.

Around eleven o'clock, there was a knock at the door. "Ronnie, dear, you've had an owl," his mum's voice said.

Ron eagerly ran to the door and threw it open. "An owl? What'd it bring?"

His mum smiled and handed him a letter addressed — in green ink — to _Mr. Ronald B. Weasley, The Burrow._ The envelope was rather plain and unmemorable, which disappointed Ron a little, but he rarely got mail so he tore it open like he was opening his only present on Christmas.

Inside were two sheets of paper. Ron's eyes grew wide as he read the letterhead on the top sheet. "It's from Hogwarts!" he gasped.

"Yes, dear," his mum said proudly.

Ron read further and discovered that he had been accepted to the school that he had heard so much about from his older brothers. That was a relief after so many years of secretly worrying that he would somehow be denied. "I'm in, Mum! I'm going to Hogwarts!"

His mum swooped down and gave him a hug so tight that he was surprised he could still breathe. "Marvelous, Ronnie! Now, let's see that supply list. We'll have to buy a lot of it secondhand and you'll have to use some of your brothers' old books and such, but that doesn't matter. I'm so proud of you, Ronnie!"

Ron blushed at his mum's praise, but lapped it up all the same. "Thanks, Mum."

"Now, dear, this calls for a special dinner! What would you like?"

"Can we have roast beef?" he asked hopefully.

He held his breath as his mum thought it over for a moment. "Of course, dear," she said at last.

"Yes!" Ron cheered. "This is the best day ever!"

"I suppose I'd better get the meat started if it's to be done in time for supper," his mum said, bustling from the room.

Ron threw himself onto his bed and sighed happily. Finally, a day that was all about him. Yes, it was a great day indeed.

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Word count: 423


	5. Quidditch Envy

_Based on a personal headcanon that Hagrid always wanted to ride a broomstick._

* * *

**Quidditch Envy**

Hagrid pressed his nose against one of the windows in Gryffindor Tower and sighed. From where he was sitting, he had a perfect, unencumbered view of the Quidditch pitch, and he watched as the Ravenclaw Quidditch team took to the skies, quickly becoming little more than blurs. He envied his classmates. They were all able to ride on broomsticks, unlike him. He was exempt from first-year flying lessons, which only made him feel even more isolated. It was bad enough that he was noticeably bigger than everyone else — now, he couldn't even partake in the wizarding world's most popular sport.

"Whatcha doing, Hagrid?"

Hagrid whirled around so fast that he almost lost his balance. "Oh," he grunted. "It's you."

"You" was Wendy Chilton, a fellow first-year. She was always kind to him, and went out of her way to include him when others didn't, but Hagrid found her a little irritating sometimes. She was too nosy for her own good, and she didn't seem to know when people wanted to be left alone.

"Yeah." Wendy grinned, seemingly oblivious to to Hagrid's less-than-friendly greeting. "So, whatcha doing?"

Hagrid withdrew from the window and cast his eyes around for something he could pretend to look at. "Nothin'."

"It didn't look like nothing," Wendy persisted, much to Hagrid's annoyance. "You looked sad. Are you sad, Hagrid?"

Hagrid shook his head forcefully and picked up an abandoned book on the theory of Switching Spells. He flipped to a random page as he answered, "'Course not. Wha' would I have to be sad about? I'm a' Hogwarts! Best place in the world!"

"Well, I think the best place in the world is the beach," Wendy said thoughtfully, twirling a lock of brown hair around her finger, "but I suppose Hogwarts is a close second, yeah."

Hagrid resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Tha's great, Wendy. Really great. Now, if yeh'll excuse me..."

But Wendy wasn't listening to him. She had moved to occupy the window he had been standing by, and was eagerly watching the Quidditch practice taking place below. "Have you seen this, Hagrid? Look at how they move so effortlessly on their brooms! It's amazing!"

"Yeah," Hagrid said heavily. "Amazing."

Wendy turned back to him, suspicion clouding her hazel eyes. "You don't agree?"

"I think—" Hagrid stopped himself before he could say what he really felt. "I think yeh ask too many questions," he said, his voice gruff.

Wendy's face fell. "Oh. Sorry. I'll just...go, then." She began to walk away, her head down.

Hagrid was torn. On the one hand, he was glad to be free of Wendy. On the other hand, it didn't feel too good to upset one of his only allies. "Wendy, wait!" he said loudly, startling a group of second-years sitting near the fireplace. "Tha' was rude of me. Me dad raised me better, y'know. Yeh can stay..if yeh want."

Wendy's face brightened considerably. "Thanks, Hagrid."

He flashed her a genuine smile. "Yer welcome." He hesitated for a moment, then forged ahead with a question that he had been dying to ask but hadn't, for fear that he would be mocked and ridiculed. "Do yeh think—do yeh think maybe you could tell me what it's like to fly on a broomstick?"

* * *

Word count: 548


	6. Love, Lifts, and Ludo Bagman

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 10: __**Potions, Task #2: write about someone with a dazzling smile.**_

_Word count: 468_

* * *

**Love, Lifts, and Ludo Bagman**

Bertha Jorkins stepped into the lift and pressed the button that would send her up to the Atrium level of the Ministry.

"Hold that for me, would you, Bertha?" a familiar voice called.

Bertha giggled, gave her lanky brown hair a quick toss, and opened the front of her navy blue robes slightly. "Anything for you, Ludo!" she called back, smiling as Ludo Bagman came into view.

He was wearing his usual Wimbledon Wasps attire despite the fact that he had been working at the Ministry for over a year, and his brilliant white smile was aimed directly at her. At 35 years of age, Bertha was no spring chicken, but that smile made her feel like a teenager with a crush all over again.

"So, how's that report on broomstick aerodynamics going?" Ludo asked, sauntering into the lift. He paused, then leaned an arm against the wall, his baby blue eyes taking her in.

She smiled. "It's going very well," she lied easily. The lift began to shudder upwards. "Do you have any plans for this weekend?"

Ludo blinked down at her. "Er, no, I can't say I do."

"I find that hard to believe," she said, her voice coy. "Not a single, itty bitty plan?"

Ludo shook his head, looking bemused. "Nope. Not one."

"How unfortunate," she purred, just as the lift ground to a halt and announced the Atrium level. She grabbed his arm and guided him out into the open space, then took a deep breath. "Would you want to go to Diagon Alley with me this weekend?"

Ludo flashed her another bright grin, and she felt her heart begin to pound a little faster. "Is there something you need a second opinion on?"

"What?" Bertha was thrown for a moment. "Oh! I wasn't planning to go there for shopping. I was thinking maybe we could...grab a bite to eat or something."

"Well, I have plenty of food at home—" Ludo began, his brow furrowed.

Bertha could have kicked something. "I'm asking you on a date, Ludo, for Merlin's sake!" she exclaimed, drawing the attention of several nearby witches and wizards. She lowered her voice. "What do you say?"

Ludo's face had gone slightly pale. "Oh, I see. Well, I'm flattered, but the thing is, erm, I'm—I'm already seeing someone."

"Really?" Bertha's initial disappointment was replaced with excitement. "Who is it? Do I know her? How long have you two been dating?"

"Now see here, Bertha," Ludo said, a frown twisting his normally jovial features. "I fail to see how that is any of your business!" He turned and swept away from her.

Bertha sighed and watched him walk away. In her head, however, she was already brewing a plan—a plan to find out all that she could about Ludo Bagman's love life.


	7. can't pretend it's okay

_Obvious canon divergence._

_Word count: 631_

* * *

**can't pretend it's okay**

_Why is everything so dark?_ Colin wondered.

The last thing he remembered was fighting a Death Eater while chaos reigned all around him. Now it was rather quiet, although he could hear an intermittent beeping and hushed voices. But why couldn't he see anything? He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. Nothing. He reached up and peeled back his right eyelid, thinking maybe he hadn't really opened his eyes properly, but he still couldn't see anything. Just as panic was beginning to set in, he heard a calm, unfamiliar female voice speak from somewhere just above him.

"Oh, good, you're awake, Mr. Creevey."

Colin tilted his head up towards the sound. "Yes! Where am I? What's wrong with me?"

There was a brief pause, and then: "You're at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Mr. Creevey."

"Oh," Colin said. That explained his odd reclined position, but not much else. "But... what's _wrong_ with me? I can't see anything! It's as if I've gone—as if I've gone—"

"Blind?" the Healer supplied.

Colin swallowed dryly. "Yeah." He clutched at what he now realized were sheets — hospital bed sheets. He was beginning to put two and two together, and he did not like the conclusion he was coming to. The Healer confirmed his suspicions with her next words.

"Mr. Creevey, due to a miscast spell, you are now experiencing vision loss the likes of which we have never seen before. It is highly probable that the spell was rooted in Dark magic, and we are therefore unable to reverse its effects."

"So what you're saying is that I'm blind," Colin said flatly. "And there's no way you can give me back my sight."

"That's correct, Mr. Creevey." She paused. "I am so sorry."

Colin bowed his head, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. _That's all they're good for now,_ he thought bitterly. _Blubbering_.

"I need a moment," he said, his voice hoarse. "I need to...process this."

A hand suddenly squeezed his own and he drew back, scared.

"Dennis!" his mum's voice scolded, but now that Colin knew who was touching him, he wasn't frightened at all.

"Dennis!" he said happily, stretching his arms out. A moment later, he felt the mattress shift slightly as his brother climbed onto the bed beside him.

"Thank goodness you're alive," Dennis whispered, clinging to him. "I was so worried when I realized you'd stayed to fight—you could have been killed!"

"But I wasn't," Colin said softly, rubbing his brother's back with ease despite his lack of vision. It was a gesture he had replicated so many times during their younger years at Hogwarts, after all. "I'm still here, and I'm still the same Colin I've always been on the inside."

"Colin?" his mother's voice spoke again.

"Yes, Mum?"

"Can I—can I hug you too?" she asked.

"You don't have to ask," Colin laughed, but then he remembered how frightened he had been when Dennis first touched his hand. "Oh. Right. Actually...thanks for asking."

His mother's arms encircled him then, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. "My baby," she whimpered before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "My poor, poor baby."

"No, I'm alright, Mum," Colin said quickly. "I'm—I'm fine." The lie tasted sour in his mouth. He wasn't fine, not really. He may have had the support of his family to bolster him but deep down, he was angry and scared and incredibly uncertain as to how his future would look.

"I'll leave you alone with your family now, Mr. Creevey," the Healer said.

Colin nodded against his mum's shoulder. "Thanks."

He listened as her footsteps faded away, then broke down in his mother's arms. Life would never be the same again.


	8. if you were an ocean, i'd learn to float

_Title comes from "All I Want Is You" by Kimya Dawson._

_Word count: 903_

* * *

**if you were an ocean, i'd learn to float**

Lavender took a deep breath and knocked on the door of Shell Cottage. Bill opened the door moments later, looking haggard.

"Lavender," he said, surprise evident in the way he raised a single ginger eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

That was a very good question. Lavender didn't even really know how to answer it.

"I, erm...I heard about you and Fleur," she said quickly. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Ah, thanks," Bill said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "It was—it was a long time coming, if I'm being honest."

Lavender stared at him for a moment, taking in the deep scars on his face without shame. They were so similar to the ones she traced everyday in the mirror. She wondered if he did the same with his.

"May I come in?" she asked at last.

Bill started slightly. "Oh, of course. I'm sure you've traveled a long way."

She nodded and followed him into the little cottage. Looking around, she couldn't help but notice the absence of Bill's former wife. There were no cozy little touches that suggested a feminine hand—it was almost austere. And aside from some plants lining the windowsill in the living room, there wasn't much color to speak of.

"So," Bill began, diverting Lavender's attention from their surroundings, "how have you been, Lavender?"

He gestured to the small grey sofa and she sat on one end, hoping that he would opt for the other. Disappointingly, he chose to sit in an armchair instead.

"I've been alright," Lavender said carefully. "Written a few articles for The Daily Prophet—"

"I've read them, they're quite good," Bill interjected, and Lavender blushed.

"Thanks. How have you been, Bill?"

Bill shrugged. His trademark fang earring glinted in the afternoon light. "Can't complain."

"So you're really not sad about Fleur?" Lavender found herself blurting out.

Far from looking offended, Bill smiled, then laughed—loudly. "No, I'm really not. We both wanted different things, and we were mature enough to realize that we couldn't get those things if we stayed together."

"Different things," Lavender repeated.

"Well, different people, I suppose," Bill clarified.

"I see."

"Yeah." Bill seemed to be gazing rather intently at her now, or perhaps that was merely wishful thinking. "Fleur moved in with her sister shortly after we decided to go our separate ways, and I've just been staying here so I don't have to face my mum."

Lavender, who was all too familiar with Mrs. Weasley's smothering, giggled. "Can't blame you. Doesn't it get lonely, though?"

Bill spread his arms wide. "Have you seen the views here?"

Lavender had. She found them to be stunning, and she said as much to the redheaded man. They then moved on to other subjects: Lavender's living situation (she was rooming with her best friend, Parvati), Bill's family (all seemed to be doing well, last he'd checked), and even their mutual interest in werewolf legislation. Eventually, they stumbled onto the topic of their love lives.

"I'm not seeing anyone," Lavender confessed.

"Really?" Bill's eyebrow was arched again. "I find that hard to believe."

Lavender's breath caught in her throat. "Why's that?"

"Because you are a remarkable witch," Bill said simply.

"You're not so bad yourself," was Lavender's counter. Certain that her face was bright crimson, but determined to carry on as though it wasn't, she asked Bill if he was currently dating anyone.

He stood and stretched, giving her a quick peek at the famed abdominal muscles that lay beneath his fitted black shirt. "Nah. The scars tend to be a bit of a turn-off, you know?"

"Oh, believe me, I do," Lavender said earnestly. "It's like—it's like no one wants to get to know you beyond a superficial level."

"Yes, exactly," Bill said, his voice thoughtful. To Lavender's delight, he took a seat on the opposite end of the couch and smiled at her. "See, you get it."

"Just one of those werewolf things," Lavender joked.

Bill laughed once more. "Right." He ran a hand through his hair. "God, it's nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who understands."

"Yeah." Lavender suddenly felt as though something had changed between them. As though some kind of wall had been broken down. This emboldened her to move closer to the redhead and take one of his hands in her own. "Did you really mean it when you said I was a remarkable witch?"

Bill looked down at their entwined fingers, then looked up at her, eyes blazing. "I did," he said softly, before slowly learning forward to cup her face with his other hand.

Lavender closed her eyes and waited for their lips to meet. When they finally did, she sighed contentedly. Though she had dreamed of this moment many times, it far exceeded her expectations. Bill was an excellent kisser—much better than his brother had been. His kiss was both gentle and hungry, tender yet a bit rough.

When they finally broke apart, Lavender was breathless. "Bill...that was...that was incredible."

"You don't know how long I've been waiting to do that," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.

Lavender pulled away to give him an incredulous look.

"It's true," he murmured. "Remember when I said that Fleur and I wanted different things? Well, what I wanted was _you_."

The brunette smiled and leaned in for another kiss. "I've wanted you for a long time too."


	9. On the Clock

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges & Assignments - Term 13, Assignment 5: __**Horology, Task #1: include the Weasley family clock in your story, with relevance.**_

* * *

**On the Clock**

Angelina didn't take kindly to being blindfolded and brought to the Burrow, but George had said there was some sort of surprise in it for her, so she went along with his shenanigans to satisfy her burning curiosity.

When they arrived just outside the battered but brightly colored front door, George stopped and turned to her. "Wait here," he said. "I just have to check on something."

Angelina frowned and rubbed her hands together. "George, I don't know if you've noticed, but it's freezing out here."

"I know." George flashed her a wide grin before giving her a quick peck on the lips. "It's only for a moment, love, I promise."

"Fine, but I _promise_ that if you're not back in the next sixty seconds, you will be very sorry, George Weasley," she grumbled. True to her threat, she began counting the seconds in her head as soon as her husband slipped through the doorway.

She had just reached thirty-seven when he returned.

"Was that quick enough?" George asked. Without waiting for a reply, he added cheekily, "Did you miss me?"

Angelina rolled her eyes, but allowed the redhead to pull her into the living room. Once there, she looked around. Nothing appeared to be any different than the last time she had been there. The same overstuffed floral couch sat in the middle of the room, while other bits of mismatched furniture dotted the rest of the space. Tying it all together was a beige carpet that the family had acquired during their trip to Egypt many years back.

"Er, I'm afraid you've lost me," she admitted. "What am I looking at?"

George let out a dramatic sigh. "Honestly, woman, _where_ are your powers of observation?"

"Probably wherever your cooking skills are," she shot back.

"Touché," George said lightly. "Follow me, if you will, over to this side of the room."

Angelina trailed behind him, wondering what she had missed. When he paused, beaming, next to the oversized clock with golden hands, she asked, "You kidnapped me and brought me here to look at your family's clock?"

"First of all, I did not kidnap you," George scoffed. "Second of all, would you please _look_ at the damn thing? Mum worked hard to make some updates to it."

Angelina tilted her head. The face of the clock listed its usual locations — home, school, work, hospital, prison, travelling, lost, and mortal peril. There _did_ seem to be an awfully large number of clock hands, however, even for the Weasley family...

And then she saw it:

Her name, in elegant script, on one of the metal hands.

She gasped and stretched her fingers out toward the hand, as if to verify that it was really there. "George..."

"Guess it's official, huh?" he said, nudging her arm. "I mean, I know we're married and all, but it's not the _real deal_ until your name is on our clock."

Angelina laughed and examined the timepiece again. "Oh, Harry's on here now, too! And Hermione!"

"Yeah, Mum went a little crazy adding all the new spouses," George chuckled. "Fleur's been on there for ages, of course, but what with all the recent weddings, Mum didn't want anyone to feel left out."

"Well, I'm honored," Angelina said, squeezing her husband's hand.

He brushed a braid away from her face and smiled. "Feels like we should make a toast or something, doesn't it?"

Angelina agreed. She pulled out her wand to summon a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

"To being a Weasley," George declared.

"To being a Weasley," she echoed, clinking her glass with his.

* * *

Word count: 600


	10. Percy Takes a Cruise

**Percy Takes a Cruise**

Percy had been quite against the idea of going on a cruise at first.

"A cruise, Oliver? Those ships are horribly unsanitary, you know," he had said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Besides, work is very busy right now, I can't just _leave_."

But Oliver had merely clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. "C'mon, Perce, it won't kill ya to take two weeks off."

Percy privately thought that it might, but he didn't tell his boyfriend that.

Somehow, though, his boss was okay with him sailing aboard a vessel of germs for two weeks. In fact, he seemed downright _pleased_ at the thought of Percy taking time off.

And that was how Percy found himself on a cruise ship bound for Amsterdam with Oliver in tow.

Now, however, as he stood at the railing on the upper deck and enjoyed the cool breeze skimming his fiery hair, he was beginning to think that cruise ships might not be so terrible after all. Once his insides had gotten used to the rhythm of the sea, he had found that the food was decent, the weather was beautiful, and best of all, his boyfriend was shirtless more often than not.

Percy had seen Oliver's bare chest many times before, of course, but it looked even more magnificent tanned and topped with a bright orange lei. He had noticed several other people, mostly older women who seemed to be traveling alone, admiring it too. Oliver seemed unbothered by the attention, however. Percy often wondered if he even noticed it.

"Whatcha thinking about, Perce?" Oliver had snuck up on him without him even noticing.

"Nothing," he said quickly, taking a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He wasn't about to admit that he had been thinking about Oliver's shirtless torso. There was no need to feed his boyfriend's ego.

"Doesn't sound like it was nothing," Oliver said, wrapping an arm securely around Percy's waist. Percy blushed and adjusted Oliver's crooked lei to avoid having to make eye contact with him. He had never been as good a liar as his brothers.

"It was just some boring work stuff," he muttered. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to hear about it."

Oliver laughed. "You might be right about that. The whole point of a holiday is to not think about work, Perce!"

"You do realize that's pretty much impossible for me, right?" Percy asked. Oliver responded with another laugh, but the redhead was being perfectly serious. His brain never shut off when there was work to be done...and there was _always_ work to be done, as far as he was concerned.

Percy reached into the pocket of his Bermuda shorts and pulled out his cellphone. "Still no signal," he muttered. He hoped that his boss wasn't having a breakdown without him there.

"Of course not. We're in the middle of the bloody ocean, as you well know," Oliver told him. "Now, put that away and come dance with me. There's this incredible musician—"

"Oh, you know that I don't like dancing, Oliver—"

"Percy," Oliver said firmly, "we are here to have _fun_, and if you don't put that bloody mobile away and come dance with me, I will send you pouty looks for the rest of the evening."

Percy slipped the cellphone back into his pocket and sighed. He was loathe to admit it, but his boyfriend had a point. They _were_ there to have fun, even if his idea of "fun" was a bit different than Oliver's.

"Fine," he said, allowing Oliver to pull him away.

Maybe he could at least check his email later…

* * *

Word count: 604


	11. First Date Nerves

**First Date Nerves**

Katie looked around Honeydukes, her palms sweaty and her heart beating fast. She had agreed to meet Oliver here, but he was nowhere to be seen. Katie knew that she wasn't exactly tall, but she could usually pick Oliver out of a crowd without much trouble.

The colorful candy shop was bustling with activity—groups of Hogwarts students milling about, several older wizards who seemed to be shopping for their wives, and even a goblin that had apparently taken a liking to the Ice Mice.

"I don't see him, Leanne," Katie moaned to her friend. She glanced at her watch and let out a small yelp. "He said he'd be here fifteen minutes ago!"

"He'll be here," Leanne reassured her. "He's crazy about you, Katie—he wouldn't stand you up."

Katie bit her lip. The thought of Oliver standing her up hadn't even occurred to her. She had been worried that something might have happened to him, but now she wondered if he had just changed his mind about their date.

"Hey, it's alright," her friend said sympathetically. "We can always just go to The Three Broomsticks and drown our sorrows in butterbeer, right?"

Katie sighed. "Yeah, that's true." Her eyes drifted down to her watch again, but only one minute had passed since she had last looked at it.

"Don't keep checking the time," Leanne said wisely. "I want to pick up some Licorice Wands but then we can head to The Three Broomsticks, if you want."

Katie agreed, and followed Leanne as she picked up several packets of candy. At the register, Katie decided to buy a small bar of chocolate to cheer herself up. She handed several coins to the woman behind the counter and made her way to the door.

It was windy outside, so she and Leanne tucked their purchases into their pockets and huddled under their cloaks as they headed for the popular pub.

"I can't wait to get some butterbeer," Katie said, her teeth chattering. She looked over at her friend and burst out laughing. "Leanne, your hair!"

Leanne's long, dark hair had blown into her face, and it was a miracle that she hadn't run into anything yet. Katie was so busy giggling at the spectacle that she didn't watch where she was going, and walked right into someone.

As she dusted herself off, she looked up and realized that the person she had collided with was none other than Oliver. Anger bubbled up inside of her. She crossed her arms and gave him her best glare. "Fancy seeing you here, Oliver."

The Quidditch captain grimaced. "Katie, hey, I am so sorry—"

"Oh, you're _sorry_," Katie scoffed. She tried to give her hair an angry toss, but the dramatic effect was lessened by the wind. "Do you have any idea how awful it feels to be stood up? What planet do you come from that you think that's okay?"

"I know it sucks, but I was trying to get you some flowers!" Oliver practically shouted this at her, but she was so incensed that she barely heard him.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself—" Katie blinked. "Hang on, flowers?"

"Yeah, I thought, you know, it'd be nice to get you flowers for our first date," Oliver mumbled. "There's supposed to be a little flower shop here now but I guess it hasn't opened yet—and I couldn't quite get the spell right to transfigure some myself."

"Oh." Katie stared at the ground, unable to meet his eyes. "That was...that was really sweet of you, Oliver."

"It was my mum's idea," Oliver admitted, eliciting another giggle from Katie.

"Well, it was sweet of _her_, then," she corrected.

Leanne grinned at Katie. "I'll just leave you two alone now." She waved goodbye and continued on in the direction of the pub.

Katie tore her gaze away from her friend's retreating figure to look at Oliver again. His brown eyes were intensely focused on her, causing her to blush. "So... did you still want to go to Honeydukes, or…?"

"Erm," Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "I've actually been wanting to check out Quality Quidditch Supplies, see if they have any new gloves in."

"Oh, of course," Katie snorted. "I should have known."

Oliver gave her a sheepish look. "If you'd rather not…"

"No, no, that's fine," she said hastily. At least the Quidditch shop would give them a common topic to discuss. She suddenly felt nervous around her date, even though they had known each other for several years. This was unexplored territory, and she didn't know where it would lead. Taking a deep breath, she bravely reached for his hand.

He looked down at her and smiled, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. That small gesture boosted Katie's confidence immensely, and she found herself leading the way to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"Didn't you just buy a new pair of gloves?" she asked as they walked along the cobblestone street. Oliver had put his arm around her, and she was grateful for the warmth.

He chuckled. "Have you met me? I fly a _lot_, Katie. Those things get worn out in no time."

"_Really?_" Katie pretended to be shocked. "Oliver Wood likes to _fly_?"

The teasing made her feel much more relaxed about the date ahead. This wasn't any different than what she and Oliver usually did, there was just more hand-holding than normal. She would get through this, and even if things didn't work out between them, at least she could count him as a very good friend.

* * *

WC: 928


	12. Neville's First Jack-o-Lantern

**Neville's First Jack-o-Lantern**

"Alright, Neville," Hannah announced, gesturing to the wooden table in front of her. It was covered in an array of metal implements that made Neville feel a little nervous just _looking_ at them. "I present to you...pumpkin carving tools!"

Neville tentatively picked up a serrated knife and dangled it from his fingers, as if afraid it might come to life and stab him. "Are you sure this is safe, Hannah?" he ventured.

"Of course!" Hannah shot him a troubled look. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"Oh." Neville blushed slightly and put down the knife. "Gran always said it was too—too dangerous."

"Well, that's nonsense," Hannah said, clucking her tongue. A moment later, she clapped her hands over her mouth. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said—I'm sure she meant well."

"No, it's fine," Neville chuckled, patting her arm. "It probably was a little ridiculous."

"Do you have the pumpkins?" Hannah asked.

Neville nodded and reached into the pocket of his robes. Inside were two pumpkins that he had picked that morning, shrunk down to one-twelfth their size. With a wave of his wand, he restored them to their normal dimensions and placed them on the table.

Hannah leaned over to examine them. Both were about the size of a Quaffle and two of the finest that Neville had grown that season. "These are wonderful, Neville," she said admiringly.

"Thanks." Neville shoved his hands into his pockets. "Erm, you'll walk me through how to do this, right?"

"Of course," Hannah reassured him. Neville couldn't help but smile at the warmth in her voice. She always seemed to know exactly how to assuage his fears.

Picking up the knife that Neville had touched earlier, his girlfriend demonstrated how to cut off the top of the pumpkin and scoop out the insides.

"It's a little messy," she said, "but it's so worth it once you've hollowed it out."

"Remind me again why we're not just using magic?" Neville inquired.

"Because that's how Muggles do it!" Hannah exclaimed. "If they can do it without magic, so can we. It's way more fun this way anyway."

Neville decided it was best not to argue with that logic, and gamely grabbed another knife, which he used to carefully slice around the stem of the second pumpkin. It was tougher than Hannah made it seem, but he managed to do it without hurting himself, which had been his biggest worry.

"That's it," Hannah said encouragingly. "Now, take that part off and use the metal scoop to clean out the insides."

Neville did as he was told. Hannah was right—there was something oddly satisfying about pulling out pumpkin guts. He said as much to Hannah, who giggled and nodded.

"Right. Now that we've hollowed out our pumpkins, we can draw our design," she said. She picked up a thick black marker and began to sketch out a simple face. "I'm not much of an artist, so I just do triangles for the eyes and nose, and connect two jagged lines for the mouth."

Neville took the marker from her and drew his own face on his pumpkin. It ended up being similar to his girlfriend's, except that the mouth was made of two curved lines.

"Aw, it looks so happy," Hannah commented. "Now we get to carve out the face. Are you ready?"

Neville said that he was, and watched as Hannah began to cut through the lines that she had drawn. After a few minutes, he started to do the same. At first, it was tough getting the knife in and out, but he established a sort of rhythm after he figured out the proper angle.

"Alright, I think I'm done," he said. He sat back and wiped his forehead. Some of his lines were a little crooked, but he hadn't expected perfection. "That was kind of hard."

"It looks great, though," Hannah said excitedly. "We're basically done—we just have to do this last part, which is my favorite."

She selected two lantern-like objects from the table and tapped them with her wand. They began to glow with a pulsing light. "Magic lanterns," she explained. "They'll last far longer than a candle."

"That's a great idea," Neville told her. He put a lantern inside his pumpkin and watched as his face was illuminated. "Wow."

"We'll use magic for the cleanup too," Hannah said, quickly vanishing the pumpkin innards and leaving the table as pristine as it had been before they had started.

Looking at the two Jack-o'-lanterns side by side, Neville was proud of what they had maanged to achieve. It was nice to use Muggle methods sometimes, he concluded. But it was nice to have magic on their side, too.

"Shall we put them on the porch now?" he asked.

Hannah grabbed her Jack-o-lantern and flashed him a wide grin. "Yes!"

* * *

WC: 805


	13. Cheer Dreams

_A Cheerleader!AU that I would love to expand/polish up someday!_

* * *

**Cheer Dreams**

Cho quickly tightened her ponytail and smoothed down her blue and bronze uniform. Her squad's attention had drifted, so she clapped her hands together and shouted, "Alright, Ravens! Let's do the routine from the top!"

Most of the team quickly snapped into position, but Cho noticed that a few girls seemed more interested in gossiping than cheering. "Ladies!" she called. "Less talking, more cheering!"

At her rebuke, the girls threw her dirty looks, but went to their starting positions.

"Ready...go!"

Cho led her team through the routine, fixing issues as they went. Parvati Patil was messing up the top of the pyramid. The synchronized basket tosses were out of sync. Some of the bases didn't seem to know where they were supposed to go at which times.

Being cheer captain was tough, but Cho wasn't afraid to push her squad to be the best that they could be. As the leader, she had to be energetic and agile as well as focused and organized, but she welcomed the challenge. Cheerleading was her passion—it got her adrenaline pumping, and the thrill of completing a routine perfectly was unmatched by anything else.

Days like today, however, it just seemed like nothing was going right. Try as she might, Cho couldn't get her cheerleaders to polish the routine enough to meet her high standards.

Finally, after two hours of subpar practice, Cho decided to call it quits. "Great job, everyone!" she lied. "Don't forget, we meet at 4 o'clock tomorrow!"

This reminder was met with groans, but Cho paid them no mind. She was on a mission to place highly at the annual cheer conference, and if her team was going to have a shot at doing well, they needed all the practice that they could get.

...

Cho threw herself into her favorite armchair and sighed. She was exhausted from the day's efforts—between all the shouting and tumbling about, she was ready for a nap. "Please hold me, Ced. It's been a _day_."

Her handsome boyfriend looked over at her from his spot on the sofa and smiled sympathetically. "Rough practice, love?"

"What gave it away?" Cho moaned, sinking her head into her hands. "The team is just... they're not doing well. They're not _focused_, Ced. It's clear that they're not taking it seriously!" Moments later, she was perched on Cedric's lap. He had his hands on her shoulders, and he was giving her the most incredible massage. "Thank you," she murmured, enjoying the relief it brought to her aching muscles. "Have I mentioned lately how much I appreciate you?"

Cedric was her rock, the person she turned to when she needed cheering up or talking down. She would forever be grateful for the day that he walked into her English lit class.

"You have, but I'll never tire of hearing it," Cedric replied teasingly.

"Well, you are _fantastic_," Cho giggled, turning to peck his lips. "I love you."

"I love you too," he said, pulling her in for a longer kiss.

...

"Justin, have you practiced the choreo at _all_ since yesterday?" Cho demanded, her hands on her hips.

Much to her chagrin, this practice wasn't going any better than yesterday's had. Already, Marietta Edgecombe had injured herself and Alicia Spinnet was out sick. Now, Justin Finch-Fletchley was acting as flummoxed as he had the day before.

Justin nodded, but he couldn't seem to meet Cho's gaze.

"Really?" Cho asked, her tone heavy with distrust. "Because it seems like you're still lost on where you're supposed to go after the second cradle catch!"

"Stop yelling at him!" Neville Longbottom burst out. He—and everyone else, for that matter—looked surprised at his outburst. Blushing, he added, "I know that Justin practiced, because we went over the routine together."

"Did you hear something?" Cho said sarcastically to no one in particular. She turned back to the red-faced boy. "Longbottom, if I'd wanted your input, I would have asked for it."

She knew that she was being mean, but she was at her wits end. No one else seemed to care about the upcoming conference, and this was her last eligible year. As a senior, she would be graduating before the next one took place. She had worked so hard for this, busting her arse to make captain, and now, her squad was going to embarrass her at the meet.

"Reign it in, Cho," Pansy Parkinson snapped. "We're doing our best here."

Cho nodded weakly, a sudden wave of shame washing over her. "You're right, Pansy. I'm sorry. I just...want us to do well at the cheer conference."

"We _know_, Cho," Parvati said gently. "And we really are trying. We don't want to let you down."

Cho's eyes began to mist, and she hastily reached up to swipe at them. "Thanks, everyone. That means a lot."

"Team hug!" someone shouted. Cho laughed as the group converged on her, sweeping her up in a many-armed embrace.

She loved this squad, even if they drove her mad sometimes. They had been there for her through thick and thin, and she was grateful for that.

Besides, there was still time to whip them into shape….

* * *

WC: 857


	14. can you fix my h-e-a-r-t

_Written for the WWW Hump Day Drabble prompt: "My mum asked about you." / "We haven't seen each other for a year, and that's the first thing you say to me?" / "Tell me why you left."_

* * *

**can you fix my h-e-a-r-t**

Oliver Wood somehow looked even more handsome than the last time Percy had seen him. He was tanner and more muscular, and he had a hint of facial hair on his chin. After a few seconds of gaping, the redhead realized that he was being extremely rude, shut his mouth, and just stared.

"Hiya, Perce," Oliver said, without any of the usual confidence that Percy remembered. He seemed guarded, nervous even. Silence fell as Percy furiously tried to think of something to say. It wasn't easy for him to make small talk on the best of days, and being surprised at work by his ex-boyfriend certainly didn't make that challenge any easier.

"My mum asked about you," Percy offered up at last. He cringed inwardly. Of all the things he could have said, he brought up his mother and her irritating habit of asking after people that were no longer in his life.

Oliver laughed, but it sounded forced to Percy's ears. "We haven't seen each other for a year, and that's the first thing you say to me?"

"Tell me why you left, then, Oliver." Percy blurted out the first thing that had popped into his head when he had first laid eyes on Oliver mere minutes—had it only been minutes?—ago.

Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other, ignoring Percy's questioning gaze. Fine. If he didn't want to talk about why he had up and left their shared flat and moved abroad to play Quidditch, Percy wasn't going to press the issue. It didn't matter anymore anyway. He had moved on. Alone.

Percy turned back to the paperwork on his desk, using a quill to make notes in the margins. After several minutes, he looked up and realized that his ex was still standing there. "Did you want something, Oliver? Because I'm really rather busy at the moment. I've got a report due Monday, and—"

"I'm sorry," Oliver cut in. He took a deep breath and continued, "I know I should have said something, but I panicked, alright? You wanted to get serious and I...I just wanted to play Quidditch."

Percy set down his quill and adjusted his glasses. "I'm not sure that qualifies as an excuse, but I will consider your apology and get back to you at my earliest convenience."

"At your earliest—" Oliver shook his head. "See, this is what you do, Percy! You put up walls so that no one can get through to you—"

"You got through to me," Percy said softly. "You got through to me and then you _left!"_ He could feel the stares of curious Ministry coworkers, but he didn't care. Oliver didn't get to just waltz back into his life like nothing had happened. "Any 'walls' that I may or may not be putting up are a direct result of you breaking my heart, Oliver."

Oliver's mouth fell open. "Broke your—you were never around! What was a bloke supposed to think?"

"You were supposed to think that I might care if you moved out of our flat and all the way to Italy without even consulting me on the matter!" Percy exploded. Chest heaving, he realized that he ought to dial it back a little. He was making a scene now, and that was quite unprofessional of him. "Do you know what it's like?" he said, a little more quietly. "To come home and find that your boyfriend has up and moved out? I didn't even realize you were in Italy until I read something about it in the papers."

Oliver's head had moved to look downwards, but now he peeked up at Percy with shame-filled brown eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I never meant to hurt you. I guess I thought—you were always so busy with work anyway—it seemed like all your talk about getting more serious was just that. Talk."

Percy shook his head. "It wasn't just talk, Oliver. I was ready for the next step. You, on the other hand, apparently were not."

"I was," Oliver insisted. He raked his fingers through his hair, giving him the appearance of having just rolled out of bed. Percy tried not to think about that. "I know you probably don't believe me, but I want to prove to you that I was—that I _am_—serious about you. About us."

Percy sat back in his chair and tapped his quill against the edge of his desk. He was on the fence about giving Oliver another chance. What if the other man hurt him again? Percy had always played it safe, and this seemed like too great a risk for him to take.

Almost as if he had read Percy's thoughts, Oliver said quickly, "Look, I know you probably feel a bit scared about letting me in again, but you don't have to give me an answer today. I'll come back tomorrow, alright?"

All Percy could do was nod and watch as Oliver walked away. Five minutes later, he was still staring at the same spot, almost as though he might summon his ex-boyfriend back through sheer willpower.

Finally, he sighed and took off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He had a choice to make, it seemed. He just hoped that he could make the best decision for himself.

* * *

WC: 882


	15. Secrets Among Sisters

**Secrets Among Sisters**

"I always knew, you know," Astoria says as she walks into Daphne's room holding a delicate china teacup. Daphne bangs her forehead on the window she has spent the last half hour staring out of, startled from her reverie.

"You always knew...what?" she asks, unsure if the sudden coiling in her stomach is due to unease or something else. She has no secrets from Astoria, except for one so big that it might have imploded her life if it had been discovered. Thankfully, though, that's behind her now, and her little sister is none the wiser.

Or so she thinks.

"That you were sneaking around with Harry," Astoria says simply. She nods towards the cup. "Tea?"

Daphne ignores the question, too busy gaping at the other woman. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"To you, or to Mother and Father?" Astoria asks, quickly vanishing her offering with a flick of her wand.

"Either, I suppose." Daphne contemplates the younger witch, so similar to her in looks, yet so different from her in personality. Astoria would have paraded the relationship around with no qualms about how their parents would react. "You really knew all this time?"

Astoria nods, her eyes bright. "You certainly tried to be subtle, I can appreciate that, but you were...woefully obvious sometimes."

"But then," Daphne can scarcely bring herself to ask, "does that mean that everyone else knew too?"

To her surprise, her sister laughs. Daphne has always wished she could laugh with such elegance and ease. "Oh, no. I should have clarified, Daph—it was obvious to me because I'm your sister and I know you better than most."

"Oh," Daphne whispers, relieved, as Astoria pulls her into a tight hug. "Thank you for keeping my secret, Tori."

Astoria steps back and flashes her a radiant smile. "What else are sisters for?"

* * *

WC: 306


	16. Beloved Beater

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges & Assignments - Term 13, Assignment 7: __**Arts and Crafts, Task #3: write about someone easily recognizable.**_

* * *

**Beloved Beater**

Ludo Bagman finished tugging on his yellow and black Quidditch robes, shouldered his broomstick and Beater's bat, and walked onto the pitch for practice. He hadn't made it far, however, when two giggling witches approached him. They couldn't have been much younger than him — probably a few years out of Hogwarts, if he had to guess. One had straight brown hair and was clutching a camera, the other had curly red hair and glasses.

"Hello, ladies," he said, grinning widely. "Looking for me?"

The brunette squealed and batted her eyelashes at him. "Yeah. Would you get a picture with us, Ludo?"

"Certainly." He set down his equipment, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Mulligan!"

Edward "Eddie" Mulligan, sandy-haired Seeker for the Wimbourne Wasps, landed half a minute later. He looked extremely annoyed, but Ludo was used to that. "What is it, Bagman?" He glanced over at the two women and rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. They want a picture."

"Damn right they do," Ludo said cheerfully.

"This is so unprofessional," Mulligan muttered, but he took the brunette's camera from her nonetheless.

Ludo pretended not to hear him. Instead, he slung an arm around each woman's shoulder. "Smile, ladies!"

Mulligan quickly snapped a picture and handed the camera back. "Alright, ladies, we really need to get practicing. Thanks for coming by."

Ludo mounted his broomstick and gave the pair a sly wink as he flew off. He'd encountered two fans already, and it wasn't even noon yet. Maybe there really was something to all those gossipy rags calling him "the most beloved Beater in the European League."

...

"Bagman, a word," team captain Gregory "Mitch" Mitchell called. After two hours, the intensive practice was over and the rest of the team was trudging towards the locker room for showers. Ludo hung back, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Alright there, Mitch?" he asked, twirling his bat. "I thought we looked great out there today."

Mitch sighed and ran a hand through his hair. At twenty-eight, he was only a few years older than Ludo, but he certainly looked far older. Ludo wondered if that had something to do with the stress of being Captain, and was — not for the first time — remarkably glad that _he_ was not Captain. He didn't do well with too many responsibilities. "Here's the thing, Ludo. Your popularity is getting a bit...out of hand."

"Out of hand?" Ludo repeated slowly. "I don't understand."

"Well, take today, for instance. Those girls wanted a picture with you and instead of telling them to wait until after practice, you did it right then!"

"But—" Ludo began.

"No buts," Mitch said, his voice firm. "It's taking away from team practices. Do those on your own time. Got it?"

Ludo nodded reluctantly. "Yes, Mitch."

...

"Ludo! Ludo! Ludo!"

Ludo shivered with anticipation as the crowd chanted his name. He flew out onto the pitch while pumping one fist in the air, and the onlookers screamed even louder.

The Wimbourne Wasps were about to play their sworn enemies, the Appleby Arrows. Ludo felt good about their chances, though. It didn't hurt that the crowd was clearly taken with him. Glancing down, he saw a large poster that read, "We Love Ludo!" and grinned. The Arrows were in for a sound thumping.

...

Adoring fans swarmed onto the field when the match ended. The Wasps had won 370-300 — not the 'sound thumping' that Ludo had been hoping for, but a respectable margin nonetheless — so Ludo soon found himself surrounded on all sides by a sea of yellow and black.

"Mr. Bagman, over here!" An excited male voice cut through the noise of the crowd. Ludo looked over to find a young reporter waving at him. The young reporters were always so enthusiastic, and he loved that. "Mr. Bagman, I'm Wilbert Williams of _The Daily Prophet._ Would you care to comment on that remarkable match?"

"I would be honoured to, Wilbert," Ludo said smoothly, brushing a strand of blond hair out of his face as a cameraman prepared to snap a picture of him. The flash went off and he blinked a few times before recovering from the spots in his vision. "I just want to say that the Arrows are always a welcome opponent, and though they played a fine match, the Wasps were more than prepared to — forgive my pun — _beat_ them." He gave the reporter a wave and a wide smile before moving on to the next fan.

This time, it was a little girl who couldn't have been more than six. She had dark hair and was clad in a Wimbourne Wasp jersey. "Mummy, it's him!" she squealed, pulling on the robes of a woman who was, presumably, her mother. She then ran over and grabbed Ludo's robes. "Hi!"

"Well, hello there, sweetheart," Ludo chuckled.

"Ludo!" she said breathlessly, "when I grow up, I wanna be just like you!"

He smiled and patted her on the head. "Never give up on your dreams, kid."

"Thank you," her mother called after him.

Ludo continued walking, waiting to see who would approach him next.

"We love you, Ludo!" a group of girls screamed, holding up a flag emblazoned with his face and name as he walked by.

"Love you too, ladies!" he boomed. He stopped to flex his muscles, and one of the girls fainted.

"Ludo, I've been looking all over for you! I'm your number one fan!" an older man insisted next, pushing a quill and a piece of parchment into Ludo's hands for him to sign. Ludo did so with a flourish of the quill, laughing at the look of wonder on the man's face as he stared at the signature.

He was stopped quite a few more times as people recognized him or sought him out, but all in all, he was quite glad to reach the team locker rooms nearly an hour later. Being famous was fun, but it was also exhausting. He couldn't wait to take a nice, long shower and read the coverage of the match.

As the hot water washed over him, Ludo hummed happily to himself. He didn't know how many more years he would be able to play professional Quidditch, but he was content to enjoy his lifestyle of fame and popularity while it lasted.

* * *

WC: 1,060


	17. Connection on the 'Gram

_Note: this is a social media!AU._

* * *

**Connections on the 'Gram**

Colin hovered his finger over the 'share' button for a few seconds before finally pressing it. A sort of panicky excitement filled him, and he hastily closed out of Instagram before tossing his mobile onto his pillow.

A minute later, his phone buzzed, alerting him to a new notification. Colin's eyes lit up and he made a dive for his bed.

"Yes!" he said under his breath. The user pagesinastori had commented on his latest post, just as he had hoped she would.

_Hey, creeveyphotography! Great shot, as always,_ she wrote. _Can't wait to see what you come up with next._ Her last line was followed by a heart emoji, and Colin's own heart began to beat a little faster.

This "pagesinastori" had started following him several months ago, and had left comments on nearly all of his posts since then. When Colin checked out the profile, he was surprised to see that "Tori" was a very pretty girl with long, dark hair and piercing brown eyes. It was flattering, really, that someone so beautiful would take such a keen interest in his photography. He was starting to look forward to her comments more than anyone else's, even his brother's. Dennis was always supportive, but his replies didn't leave Colin feeling all tingly inside.

After a moment's hesitation, Colin navigated to "Tori's" profile, his eyes widening when he saw her latest post. It was a photo of her and a girl who looked a lot like her — her sister, Colin figured — standing beside several suitcases. They had their arms around each other and were smiling brightly at whomever held the camera. "Tori's" sister was clad in a coral jumper and denims, while "Tori" wore a lime green jumper and black leggings. The effect of the combined jumper colors was a bit eye-watering, but Colin was more focused on the scenery behind the girls. He was pretty sure that he recognized the archway above their heads. It looked identical to the one that he passed under every day at his university.

With trembling hands, Colin read the caption: "Move-in day! I'm so lucky that my beautiful sister was here to help!"

Colin felt his jaw drop. Did "Tori" go to his school now? That was a lucky coincidence. He pressed the 'message' button and quickly typed, _Hey, Tori, thank you so much for all of your lovely comments over the past few months. I just saw your latest post and was wondering if you'd be starting at the University of Leeds this term? _

Her reply was almost instantaneous: _You're welcome! And_ _yes, I am, why do you ask?_

_I go there, too,_ Colin wrote, his fingers flying across his mobile's keyboard in excitement. _I'm a second-year studying film, photography, and media. If you ever need anyone to show you around, let me know!_ He sent the message, then realized that he hadn't introduced himself. His name was on his profile, of course, but he figured it couldn't hurt to mention it again. _By the way, I'm Colin. _

_I know ;)_ was her reply, and Colin's chest swelled with pride. She knew who he was! _My sister Daphne already made sure that I knew where to go, but I'll definitely take you up on that offer anyway,_ she added in a separate message. _Maybe you can show me more of those feral cat pics sometime — I loved those! Tori x_

Colin grinned at the little "x" after her name. He would be more than willing to share his photographs with the gorgeous Tori.

* * *

WC: 593


	18. To Keep His Secret

_Written for Hogwarts Challenges & Assignments, Term 13, Assignment 8 - __**Home Economics & Domestic Magic, Task #4: write about trying to take care of a problem.**_

_Warning: unpleasant master/house elf dynamic, canon use of a Memory Charm. _

* * *

**To**** Keep His Secret**

"Master!" Winky squeaked as soon as the elder Barty Crouch walked through the door. Her eyes were large, and she was trembling from head to toe. "Master, you must be going to the living room at once, sir!"

Barty shrugged off his cloak and handed it to the elf, who struggled under its weight. "What is it, Winky?" he snapped.

"There is someone here to see you, sir," Winky said fearfully. She gulped and whispered, "Bertha Jorkins, sir."

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Barty, but he couldn't place who Bertha Jorkins was until he saw the plump, brown-haired witch standing in his living room, hands on her hips. She worked at the Ministry with him, though he was hard-pressed to say which department she worked for. She was only known to him due to the many mishaps he'd had to clean up for her over the years—most notably, one in which she had authorized something that upset dignitaries of the Japanese magical government. Barty had spent _weeks_ trying to placate the Japanese, and the mere thought of that debacle caused his moustache to twitch.

"Mister Crouch!" the woman said angrily, before Barty even had a chance to open his mouth. "I've just overheard something very strange—something very strange indeed. Would you like to know what it was?"

Barty had absolutely no interest in learning what she had overheard, but something told him that Bertha was going to tell him regardless. As predicted, she did:

"I've just overheard that elf of yours talking to your son, Mister Crouch. 'Your father will be home soon,' she said. Interesting, that. I thought the boy was supposed to be in Azkaban." Bertha fixed him with a challenging glare. "Well? Haven't you got anything to say for yourself? Sir?" she added, as if it was an afterthought.

Barty's face paled, and a bead of sweat began to form under his moustache. He forced himself to remain calm, however, and was granted extra time to come up with a solution when his elf edged into the room. "I is sorry, sir!" she wailed, throwing herself on the floor at Barty's feet. "I is not knowing she was there, sir!"

"Quiet," Barty said, his voice dangerously soft. "I will deal with you momentarily." Winky nodded, tears streaming down her face. Barty turned to Bertha, a forced smile on his face. "I am terribly sorry about this, Ms. Jenkins."

"It's Jorkins—"

Barty took advantage of her correction by slipping his wand from his robes and pointing it at her. _"Obliviate." _

There was a bright flash of green light as the power of his Memory Charm blasted Bertha clean off her feet. She slammed into the wall, jostling some books from their shelves and cracking a window pane, then landed in a sprawled position with her arms and legs bent at odd angles. Barty repaired the damage with a sweep of his wand before facing his elf.

"I have some correspondence to attend to, and I must also ensure that my son is still properly..._contained._ You are to stay here and keep an eye on this woman. When she wakes, fetch me immediately. Following that task, you are to receive three lashings for your ineptitude." The elf hung her head and gave a little nod. "Oh, and Winky? You are never to mention this to anyone. If you do, the consequences will be most dire." He didn't need to use the word "clothes"—the meaning of his words was clear enough.

"Of course, sir!" Winky said quickly, bowing low to the ground. "Winky is a good elf! Winky is telling no one, sir."

Barty gave a curt nod, then swept away to find his Imperiused son and send a few owls. With any luck, Bertha would be on her way soon, and the danger of his secret being exposed would leave with her.

* * *

WC: 646


	19. you painted me golden

_Notes: This was a written rather hurriedly for a few challenges, but I'd love to go back and expand it sometime. Right now it feels really rushed and dialogue-heavy._

_Royalty!AU._

* * *

**you painted me golden**

Princess Luna skipped through the palace's splendid rose garden. It had rained the night before, so mud was splattering up onto her stockings, but she didn't care. The beauty of the blooms around her went unnoticed, too. All she really cared about was reaching the fountain in the middle. There, she planned to toss a handful of flower petals into the water and make a wish. The guards had looked at her like she was crazy when she told them of her plan, but she was used to that.

When she reached the fountain, she paused for a moment to catch her breath, then scooped some soft, slightly wilted scarlet petals that had fallen from a nearby rose bush. Closing her eyes, she held her palm to her lips and blew the petals into the fountain.

_I wish for companionship,_ she thought fervently. _A close friend, a romantic relationship, it doesn't matter. Just...someone close to my age who will love me and accept me for who I am. _

When she opened her eyes, she found that she was still alone. Convinced that the magic of her wish just hadn't come to fruition yet, she turned and skipped her way back to the castle.

...

Luna's father, King Xenophilius, shook his head fondly at the sight of Luna's dirty stockings. "I see you've been in the gardens again, Luna."

"Oh, yes, Daddy," Luna said dreamily, joining him in the throne room. "I went to the fountain the center of the rose garden, and I made a wonderful wish there."

"Did you? How wonderful!" The thing that Luna loved most about her father was that he didn't discourage her from dreaming and believing. "I do hope it comes true for you, my dearest daughter."

"Oh, thank you!" Luna gave him a tight hug and wandered off towards one of the suits of armor that stood at the perimeter of the room. She gave its sword a little tap before turning back to her father. "Shall I learn to wield one of these, Daddy? It's ever so shiny. I'm sure it must look just beautiful swishing through the air."

"Yes, it looks quite beautiful until you've stabbed someone with it," her father said, chuckling. "You needn't worry about such things, Luna. Why don't we make plans to hunt for the Blibbering Humdinger instead?"

Luna smiled and clapped her hands together. One day, she and her father would find the mystical creature of lore. "Oh, yes, let's!"

...

At dinner that night, Luna sat beside her father, as she always did. However, she didn't recognize the beautiful girl waiting on her. This girl looked to be around her age, with a plait of black hair halfway down her back and a rich brown complexion.

"Excuse me," Luna said, as the girl gracefully leaned over to refill her water glass, "I don't believe I've seen you before."

The girl immediately placed the cup back on the table and sank into a curtsy. "I'm Padma, Your Highness. I've just been hired as your new handmaiden."

Luna laughed. "Oh, please, you needn't bother with such formalities. 'Luna' will do."

"I couldn't possibly—" Padma began.

"It would be most appreciated," Luna assured her.

"Alright...Luna." The handmaiden gave her a small smile and hurried away.

Luna stared after her, utterly lost in her beauty and quiet charm. She barely listened as her father regaled her with expedition plans, and she didn't eat another bite of food until she saw Padma re-enter the hall with another helping of bread.

...

Padma's chambers were small but tidy. Luna had come looking for the handmaiden, yet she appeared to be out. A few minutes later, she heard—and then spotted—the girl coming down the long stone corridor, carrying a pile of books in her arms.

"Hello, Padma!" Luna said cheerfully. Padma froze.

"Y—your Highness...I mean, Luna," she said, trying to curtsy. A few tomes toppled onto the floor, and Luna rushed forward to pick them up. "I was just, er, picking up some books for..."

"For some light reading?" Luna laughed, reading the spines with great interest. "These look fascinating, I must say, Padma—I had no idea you were interested in horticulture."

Padma's cheeks went pink. "I—I'm not, they're not for me—"

"Oh, my apologies, I assumed you were heading to your chambers," Luna said politely.

"I...no. I wasn't." Padma nodded at the stack of books. "Erm, if you put those back, I can take them to their...destination."

"Right, of course." Luna did as she asked, then watched, head tilted to the side, as her handmaiden slowly walked away.

...

"What shall we do today, Luna?" Padma asked, opening the curtains to let the sunlight stream onto Luna's bed. Luna stirred, blinking against the bright light.

"It is Saturday, is it not?" she asked.

"It is," Padma confirmed.

"Then our plans are already set!" Luna exclaimed, throwing her covers aside. "We ride at noon to search for the Blibbering Humdinger!"

Padma blinked at her. "I don't understand."

"It's a magical creature said to live in the nearby woods," Luna explained. She half-expected Padma to laugh at her, or at least give her a pitying smile, but the other girl did neither.

"Wow," she said, sounding awed. "I would love to see one."

"Perhaps you shall today," Luna said with a smile. She climbed out of bed and allowed Padma to help dress her, a sort of warmth coiled in the bottom of her stomach as she looked at her handmaiden.

...

The hunt for the Blibbering Humdinger was woefully unsuccessful, and the royal hunting party trudged slowly back towards the castle, spirits low. Padma rode behind Luna, and the blonde princess found herself twisting around more than once to smile at her.

Padma was so kind, and so...accepting. The latter descriptor reminded Luna of the wish that she had made only a week prior. Perhaps her wish had come true sooner than she had thought. There was only one way to find out, really.

"Padma," Luna said, dismounting from her horse, "you have seen the library here, I presume?"

"Yes, Luna," Padma said, curtsying as a guard passed behind her and gave her an odd look for addressing the princess so informally. "I've been many times...to retrieve books for others."

Luna raised an eyebrow. "Do you not retrieve any for yourself, then?"

"No," Padma replied, but she couldn't quite meet Luna's eyes. "It isn't proper for a handmaiden to fill her leisure time with books."

"It is when you work for me," Luna said, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the castle.

...

"Are you sure this is allowed?" Padma whispered, looking around at the many shelves of books. "I do not wish to cause any trouble."

Luna looked down at their entwined hands. "Do you refer to the act of reading, or something else?"

Padma glanced down too. "Both, I suppose." She tried to pull her hand away, but Luna only held on more tightly.

"You feel it too, don't you, Padma?" she said softly. "We're meant to be together, I think."

Padma's gaze was fixed on a far-off bookcase. "I-I don't know, Luna."

"I made a wish." Luna blurted out the only explanation that she could think of—the only explanation that made any sense. "I made a wish with some rose petals in the fountain last week, and I wished for _love."_

"Why are you telling me this?" Padma's voice was so stricken that Luna let go of her hand. She hadn't wanted to distress the other girl. She only wanted to make her understand.

"I know we've only known each other a short time, but I've never met anyone who has accepted me as you have, Padma," Luna said earnestly. "I'm not saying that this is love just yet, but...I feel as though it could be, someday."

"I'm a mere handmaiden, a servant," Padma murmured, turning away. "It isn't proper."

"Daddy's greatest wish is that I find happiness with whomever makes me happy." Luna knew this from the many times her father had spoken to her of love and marriage. He cared more about seeing her happy than about her marrying advantageously. "Though I do suppose I ought to give you a word of warning."

Padma's eyes widened. "Warning?"

"It won't be easy," Luna shrugged. "You know...trying to love me. I know I'm rather odd—the guards call me 'Loony' behind my back when they think I can't hear them, but I—"

The rest of her sentence died on her lips as Padma kissed her. "I don't care if you're odd, Luna. I don't intend to go anywhere."

Luna's heart swelled with happiness at those words. Knees weak, she sank onto a nearby armchair and tugged the other girl down with her. There would be time for books later. For now, she simply wanted to kiss Padma again.

* * *

WC: 1,481


	20. Saving Lives

_Note: this is a paramedic!AU. I am not a paramedic, so any mistakes in regards to response times, procedures, etc. are purely my own. _

* * *

**Saving Lives**

Angelina had been standing by the penguin exhibit when she heard the anguished scream.

"Help! Somebody, please help! It's my husband!"

Angelina tore her gaze away from the aquatic birds as her trauma response training kicked in. Without stopping to think, she took off in pursuit of the distressed female voice, pulling her braids into a ponytail as she did so.

The voice belonged to a young woman who was standing outside of the polar bear enclosure. She looked to be around Angelina's age, or maybe a bit younger, and she stared as Angelina ran up to her.

"Ma'am, I am a paramedic," Angelina said quickly, scanning the scene in front of her. An ashen-faced man lay on the ground, unmoving. A crowd had gathered around, but most people were keeping a respectable distance, some talking in hushed voices. Even the polar bear had swum over to the glass to watch the proceedings with apparent interest. "What seems to be the problem here?"

"It's my h-husband," the woman wailed, gesturing to the figure on the ground. "He was f-fine one minute, and then the next, he had just...c-collapsed!"

"First, has anyone called 999?" Angelina asked, looking around at the curious bystanders. An older woman with grey hair pulled into a tight bun held up a mobile phone, indicating that she was still on the line. "Good. Hopefully an ambulance will be here soon, but in the meantime, I can check things out."

She knelt down on the pavement and listened for a heartbeat. When she wasn't able to hear one, she relayed that information to the woman with the phone. She then loosened the man's button-down shirt and removed his tie, preparing to deliver CPR. A thought suddenly struck her as she was rolling up her sleeves, however.

"Does your husband have any allergies, ma'am?" she asked the wife. She wondered if the man's symptoms could be attributed to anaphylactic shock.

The woman nodded. Her tear-stained cheeks were a testament to her worry, but she seemed to have pulled herself together a little, speaking in a clearer, stronger voice than before. "Yes, he's terribly allergic to bees, but I didn't see him get stung or anything..." She trailed off. "Do you think that's why he isn't breathing?"

"We won't know anything for sure until we get him to hospital," Angelina said gently. While allergies seemed a likely culprit, she was hesitant to speak with any certainty, in case she turned out to be wrong. "For now, I'm going to do CPR."

She stacked her hands together and placed them on the center of the man's chest. She then began the chest compressions , counting in her head as she did so. _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10_...she did this until she reached 30, then listened for breath again. "Still nothing," she reported. "Do you have an ETA on the ambulance, ma'am?"

The woman on the phone repeated Angelina's query into the mouthpiece. "2 minutes," she said a moment later.

Angelina gave a grim nod and pulled a pocket mask from her pocket. She always carried them around in case of situations like this. Carefully, she tilted the man's head back enough so that his mouth opened a little.

"I'm opening the airway so that I can perform rescue breaths," she explained to the onlookers. Making sure that her fingers were pinching the man's nostrils shut, she leaned over and delivered one rescue breath—checking to make sure the man's chest was rising and falling—and then another.

Once that was done, Angelina resumed the chest presses. After another round of compressions and rescue breaths, the ambulance arrived, much to her relief.

"Oi, Johnson!" a familiar voice called, and she looked up to see Oliver, one of her favorite coworkers, grinning at her. He pulled a stretcher behind him. "Just couldn't stay away from the excitement, even on your day off, eh?"

"Well, someone had to save lives around here," Angelina joked back.

Oliver chuckled as he navigated the stretcher next to the man's body. "Ready?" he asked Angelina. She nodded, and together, they lifted the body onto the stretcher.

"Can I go with him?" The man's wife had appeared at Angelina's side.

"Sure," Angelina replied, wiping her brow. "Oliver here will come get you once your husband is safely in the ambulance."

"Thank you so much for everything," the woman whispered, squeezing Angelina's hand.

Angelina gave her a tired smile. Rescue efforts were always a little stressful, but she enjoyed being able to help people. "You're welcome, ma'am."

As she walked away from the busy scene, her eyes fell on a bench near the penguin exhibit that she hadn't noticed before. That looked like a nice place to relax and watch the funny little birds for a while. She strode over, propped her feet up, and laughed as the penguins played before her.

* * *

WC: 816


	21. Quidditch Inequality

**Quidditch Inequality**

Angelina stared down at the latest copy of _Quidditch Weekly_, lost for words. Oliver Wood, her former Quidditch captain and current Keeper for Puddlemere United, winked up at her from the glossy page. She rolled her eyes and snapped the magazine shut. If she had to look at his stupid grinning face for another moment, she might scream.

She wanted to be happy for Oliver, she really did. Feeling envious of his success felt petty and unprofessional. She couldn't help it, though. There was such a disparity between the coverage afforded to male and female players, and although Angelina was a great player in her own right, she didn't receive nearly the same amount of recognition.

Last she had heard, Oliver had even signed an endorsement deal with Nimbus to model sports cups or something. Why wasn't Nimbus seeking _her_ out for endorsement deals? It wasn't even about the money—it was the perceived inequity of it all that made her blood boil.

Of course, the blame lay more with Wizarding society as a whole than with news outlets and sports companies alone. They just didn't take female Quidditch players seriously. If Angelina had a Galleon for every time a so-called fan blatantly ignored her flying abilities in favor of asking about her thoughts on motherhood or what designer she was wearing, she would never have to work again.

Angelina sighed and picked up the magazine again. She was dining with Oliver and Katie that night, and if they asked her about the interview, she had better sound reasonably well-versed on it. She flipped to page 20 and began to read, but found herself growing more and more annoyed. Oliver got to answer interesting, thoughtful questions, like, "How has your success on the pitch changed the way you see yourself?" and not, "What did you have for breakfast this morning?"

There was a glaring omission of questions relating to Oliver's parenthood, clothing, and eating habits, all queries that Angelina hated being asked herself. The interview also took up four whole pages! When they had interviewed Angelina, she had barely been given _one_ full page.

After reading the article, Angelina was left feeling more resentful of her former teammate than ever. It wasn't really Oliver's fault, of course, but it had never been clearer to her—things needed to change. Maybe she could discuss _that_ over dinner.

* * *

WC: 394


	22. Blessings From a Ghost

**Blessings From a Ghost**

"Ugh, I'm too sober for this," Angelina groaned. She rubbed her eyes, blinked, and looked again.

Yep, that was definitely Fred Weasley's ghost hovering above her bed.

"Heya, Angie," it—_he_—said. He sounded exactly the same as she remembered, and he looked much the same too, apart from the transparent, silvery nature of his form. "How's it going?"

"I'm...I'm just going to go scream. Excuse me." Angelina twisted around, buried her face in her pillow, and let loose.

One year. One whole _year_ Fred had been dead, and he was just now showing up? Well, he had always had a lot of nerve.

"Feel better?" Fred smirked.

Angelina gathered the blanket around herself and crossed her arms, both to illustrate her annoyance with him and to cover the fact that her pyjama top was rather sheer. "A little. _What_ are you doing here, Fred?"

"I came to talk to you about George," he said simply.

Angelina frowned. "What about him?" She wondered if maybe he was in some kind of trouble, and Fred had come to warn her.

"Well, let's just say I've noticed something...different about him," Fred said. "And something different about you, too. I've been watching the both of you pretty carefully, actually—"

"Creepy," Angelina muttered.

"—and I think you two need to just admit how you feel about each other already," Fred continued as if she hadn't even spoken. He followed up this bombshell of a statement with a smug look.

Angelina's mouth fell open. There was nothing to admit! She and George were just friends, thank you very much.

"You are _not_ just friends, Angie," Fred said, as if he could read her mind. "Not after that moment you two shared last night."

Angelina gasped and ducked her head in embarrassment. "That was private, Fred!"

She and George had been out late drinking, and he had helped her home. There had been some heavy flirting throughout the night, and an almost-kiss when George tucked her into bed. At the last second, however, he had pulled away, leaving Angelina feeling disappointed and ashamed.

Fred shrugged. "Ghost, remember? I can move through walls. It's very handy."

"I'm sure it is," Angelina huffed. "But, wait—are you saying you'd be okay with...with me and George?"

Fred's resulting laugh was so familiar that it made her heart ache. How many times had she wished that she could hear that sound again?

"Of course you have my blessing, Angie," he said when he had composed himself. "I just want you both to be happy."

He moved forward with his arms stretched out, as if he were going to give her a hug. She let out a yelp and pulled the blanket over her head.

"Don't touch me," she warned.

"Why not?" Fred asked.

She poked her head out and gave him an incredulous look. "Don't you remember what it was like, touching ghosts? They make you feel all cold, and I am quite cosy at the moment."

"Fair point," Fred conceded. His face took on a mischievous grin. "I will definitely be using that to my advantage."

He began to float away, and Angelina realized that she still had some unanswered questions for him. "Wait! Why come back now, Fred? And where do you get your strength from if you can't eat? Do ghosts _sleep?"_

She blinked again. Fred appeared to be gone, but for all she knew, he was lurking just on the other side of the wall. Damn that ability to pass through solid objects. She was going to have to watch her back at all times now.

The more pressing matter, though, was what she was going to do about George. As she closed her eyes and evened out her breathing, she tried to come up with some sort of plan. A wry smile stretched across her face, however, when she realized that George may have had a similar conversation with his ghostly twin already.

* * *

WC: 657


	23. On the Hunt (read warnings)

_Warning: this is a hunter!AU and contains a __**non-graphic animal killing.**_

* * *

**On the Hunt**

Rabastan took a swig from his water bottle and wiped his forehead. The African sun was beating down hard, and he wished, not for the first time, that there was more shade in the grasslands. He thought longingly of his hotel room, which was at least cooler than out here in the boiling heat. He couldn't return until he had finished his task, however. He owed Tom that much.

"Tom" was Tom Riddle, the rich and powerful man for whom Rabastan and his family worked. When Tom had announced his intentions to fund and facilitate the poaching of lions, many of his workers had quit or been forced to quit after outrage by animal rights groups and society at large. Despite those protests, Rabastan, Rolduphus, and Rolduphus' wife Bella had remained faithful to Tom, and were handsomely rewarded for their loyalty.

Rabastan saw movement out of the corner of his eye and carefully, quietly, set down his bottle. The slow, measured movements of the creature nearby suggested that it was a lion on the prowl. Rabastan cautiously reached for his hunting rifle, drawing it up and aiming it at the sand-colored mammal. Perhaps the lion noticed the action, though, because it scampered away seconds later.

Rabastan let out a frustrated growl. All of that waiting had been for nothing—the animal had gotten away. He weighed his options: continue to wait and hope that another lion showed up, or call it a day and disappoint Tom.

Disappointing Tom wouldn't do, he knew. The man had ways of punishing those who disappointed him, whether by making them "disappear" or by tactical social snubs. So Rabastan remained where he was, sweating through his clothes and wishing that he had brought another container of water with him. Hopefully a second lion would show up soon so that his efforts wouldn't be a complete waste of time.

...

Rabastan savored another small sip of water before replacing the cap on his bottle and shouldering his gun once more. Nearly an hour had passed since the first lion had appeared, and he was beginning to feel a bit sleepy from the heat. Only the thought of returning to Tom empty-handed kept him from giving in and taking a nap.

In the distance, some long grasses began to rustle, and Rabastan was almost certain that it was an animal—there wasn't any breeze to explain it. He trained his eyes on that spot and watched with bated breath as it moved closer and closer. Whatever it was, it was headed straight for him. Glad that he already had his rifle in position, Rabastan lightly fingered the trigger. Now, he just had to wait for the creature to show itself.

Suddenly, there was a blur of pale yellow as an animal leapt out of the grass. Rabastan quickly fired his weapon, wincing at the powerful recoil and the ringing in his ears. After a brief moment, he checked to see if he was still in danger. Seeing that the grass was now perfectly calm, he crept forward until he reached a flattened patch of it.

There was something almost peaceful about the dead lion. Its eyes were closed, and Rabastan might have thought it asleep were it not for the dark ruby-red spot on its forehead where the bullet had entered. Its enormous size made Rabastan think it was probably a male, and he smiled gleefully. Male lions were more valuable to Tom, and he would be most pleased.

Bella would be jealous, of course, as she prided herself on providing the best kills for Tom. In that moment, however, Rabastan wasn't worried about Bella's envy. He was just glad that his time in the sweltering sun hadn't been for naught.

* * *

WC: 621


	24. Mirror Mirror

**Mirror Mirror**

_Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all? _

Lavender stared at her reflection, trying hard not to flinch at the deep, red scars. Parvati stood beside her and wrapped a comforting arm around her waist.

"You don't have to do this, Lav," she whispered, leaning in to kiss Lavender's cheek.

"No, I do," Lavender insisted. "This is important to me, alright?" She willed herself to wrap her fingers around the handle of the makeup brush and pick it up, but her hands were shaking so badly that she had to set it back down. "Parvati, I—" The rest of her sentence got caught in her throat as panic threatened to overwhelm her.

"Shhh," her girlfriend soothed. She brushed a strand of hair away from Lavender's damp forehead. "Don't push yourself, Lav."

"But I have to," Lavender whispered. "I have to make _them_ go away."

She was referring to the scars. The ugly gashes only served as a reminder of what she had been through, and of what she had become.

"You know you'll always be beautiful to me," Parvati said softly, stroking her cheek.

Lavender's eyes filled with tears. She stared down at the vanity, covered as it was in a variety of makeup products, and tried to take her girlfriend's words to heart.

"I don't deserve your kindness, Parvati," she murmured at last. She glanced up at Parvati and gave her a weak smile. "Hell, I don't deserve _you."_

"Now that is blatantly untrue," Parvati said, taking Lavender's hands in her own. "You are a force to be reckoned with, Lavender Brown, and if you can't see that, then I'll just have to keep reminding you."

Lavender huffed out a laugh. "You've always been so stubborn."

"And I've always loved you," Parvati said, without missing a beat.

"I've always loved you too." Lavender's reply was likewise immediate, and the familiar sentiment gave her a small dose of courage. She took a deep breath and squeezed Parvati's hands. "I think I'm ready to try again."

Parvati gave her a brief hug, then stood back to give her room to work. This time, when Lavender picked up the makeup brush, her hands didn't tremble quite so much.

She dusted it over the pot of foundation, then carefully began to apply it to her face, paying special attention to the scarred areas. Slowly, patiently, she built up a layer of makeup thick enough to hide the worst of it. When she was finally satisfied with the coverage, she threw down the brush and flashed Parvati a triumphant smile.

"You did it! I'm so proud of you, Lav," Parvati said, pulling her in for a long kiss. Lavender sighed against Parvati's lips as a pleasant warmth filled her from head to toe.

At last, they broke apart, and Lavender turned to gaze at her reflection again. Though she knew that the scars were still there, just below the layers of makeup, she felt more powerful than she had in a long time. She also knew that she had her girlfriend to thank for that. Without Parvati's encouragement, she wouldn't have gotten to this point.

"Thank you, Parvati," she said earnestly. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Nonsense," Parvati said, shaking her head. "That was all you. I just gave you a little push—you're the one that spread your wings and _flew." _

Lavender giggled at the metaphor, but she tucked it away to remind herself that sometimes, all she really needed was a little nudge.

_Mirror, mirror, on the wall, I'll always get up when I fall._

* * *

WC: 597


	25. Inconsiderate Roommates

_Notes: modern!AU/roommate!AU, one instance of strong language._

* * *

**Inconsiderate Roommates**

Theo was blasting his music through his headphones again. Ron rolled over on his bed and glared at him.

"Do you mind, mate? I'm trying to nap here."

Naturally, Theo didn't hear him and kept nodding his head to the music—some sort of indie-rock, if Ron had to guess. The bloke had posters of The Killers and Arctic Monkeys all over his side of the dorm room.

Ron sighed. How he had gotten stuck with such an inconsiderate roommate was beyond him. He spent a few more minutes with his eyes squeezed shut, hoping that he might just fall asleep anyway, but he soon got fed up. After muttering a few choice words under his breath, he stood and crossed to the boy's desk, then tapped him on the shoulder.

Theo spun around in his chair, pulling his headphones off as he did so. They were an expensive model, Ron noted with a combination of irritation and envy. He wasn't surprised by that, though. Theo's parents were apparently quite wealthy, which left Ron wondering: why hadn't they sprung for a single room for their son?

"Can I help you?" Theo asked. His eyes were cold and his tone was, if it were possible, even colder.

Ron felt his hands curl into fists almost involuntarily. Theo always treated him like dirt. He had a way of making Ron feel as though he was unworthy of being in the same room as him, let alone _speaking_ to him, and frankly, he was sick of it.

"Yeah, you can help me by turning down your bloody music," he huffed.

Theo's lips curled up in a sneer. "Did you realize your shirt's missing a button, Weasley?"

Ron could feel his cheeks turning red. He had hoped that Theo wouldn't notice, but the boy had just proved, yet again, that he noticed _everything. _

"My mum's going to sew it back—hang on, we were talking about you and your stupid music!"

"My music's not stupid," Theo said smoothly. "Just because you've got no taste—"

Ron's hands, which had began to loosen, curled into fists once more. "What, just because I don't come from money, you think I don't have _taste?_ Well, here's two words for you, Nott. _Fuck. Off."_

He was quite glad that his mother wasn't there to hear him say that. She would have scolded him within an inch of his life, and his roommate would no doubt take great delight in his humiliation.

"With pleasure," Theo sniffed, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. "I'm going to find Blaise. At least _he _knows how to have a little fun."

"Have fun, then," Ron snapped. He glowered at the other boy as he stalked out of the room.

As soon as Theo had slammed the door shut, Ron sank back onto his bed with a sigh. He _really _needed to see about switching rooms, pronto. He didn't know he was going to survive the rest of the term otherwise.

* * *

WC: 496


	26. Seeing Her Clearly

**Seeing Her Clearly**

Jealousy claws at Lee's heart as he watches Fred and Angelina dance together at the Yule Ball. Angelina looks stunning in a deep purple gown, and he realizes, with a pang, that it is the first time he has ever seen her in one.

"Drink, Lee?" George yells over a particularly upbeat song.

Lee tears his eyes away from the happy couple to answer his friend. "Sure thing, thanks, mate."

George returns within minutes with two glasses of chilled eggnog. Lee downs his quickly.

"You having fun?" George wants to know. Lee doesn't understand why he's asking. Isn't it obvious that envy is consuming him alive?

He just shrugs, though. He's not going to ruin this for either of his two best mates.

"I'm going to dance with Katie," George shouts.

"Have fun!" Lee shouts back.

He's glad that George is gone when the Weird Sisters shift to a slow ballad and people begin to pair up on the dance floor. Fred's arms are around Angelina's waist now, and Lee bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood.

Lee has never explicitly said anything to Fred or George about fancying Angelina, but he thought that his feelings were pretty clear based on his Quidditch commentary. Still, Fred had seen fit to ask the Gryffindor Chaser to the ball without even consulting him first, so maybe he isn't the only one not sharing his feelings.

"Hey, Lee," a voice says, and he looks down to see Alicia Spinnet at his side. It's weird seeing her without Angelina and Katie—it's like he's only ever seen her on cloudy days and now, the sun has parted and he's seeing her clearly for the first time.

"Hey," he says, taking in her royal blue dress. It suits her nicely, he decides. "You're not slow dancing?"

She smiles at him, and he realizes that she has a really pretty smile. It lights up her whole face, somehow.

"No one's asked me," she says, fluttering impossibly long eyelashes.

"Is that a hint?" Lee asks archly. He's always felt comfortable around Alicia, but he suddenly feels as though there's a lot riding on her reply. What if he's read the situation all wrong?

"Yes," she giggles, and Lee breathes a sigh of relief.

"Then would you care to dance, Alicia Spinnet?" he says, holding out an arm.

She nods and takes his arm. Together, they whirl away the evening on the dance floor. When the ball ends, Alicia looks at him expectantly, and he thinks that he can sense the invitation she hasn't voiced aloud.

"Alicia?" he says.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he murmurs, marvelling at the way her face lights up again.

"Okay," she breathes. Her lips are warm against his own.

"So that's what I've been missing," he chuckles.

He's incredibly glad that he took a chance on someone else. It proved to be far better than waiting around and hoping that Angelina would finally notice him.

* * *

WC: 494


	27. The Right Words

**The Right Words**

"I think we ought to go see Mr. Ollivander sometime," Luna says. Neville looks up from his dinner of French onion soup, confused, until she adds, "He was ever so kind to me when we were trapped in that awful cellar together."

Neville's throat constricts as he recalls the many months his girlfriend was kept in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, hungry and cold. From what Luna has said, Mr. Ollivander was a comforting presence during that time, and Neville has always appreciated that.

"That sounds good," he agrees. He wonders, though, how he'll ever find the words to thank the wandmaker.

"Shall we go tomorrow?" Luna wonders aloud. "I've been wanting to go to Diagon Alley anyway, to see if the Magical Menagerie has gotten any new creatures in."

Neville nods. Tomorrow is good. Tomorrow, he will finally tell Mr. Ollivander just how indebted he is to him.

He just hopes that he can find the proper words to express his gratitude.

...

"Mr. Ollivander?" Luna calls, swinging open the door to the wandmaker's shop. "Mr. Ollivander, are you here?"

Footsteps quicken and then Neville sees the wizened wandmaker's face pop out from behind a shelf stuffed with boxes of wands.

"Here I am!" Mr. Ollivander cries, beaming. "Hello, Luna, my dear girl!"

Luna rushes forward and sweeps him into a hug. Neville hangs back, feeling awkward, until Luna gestures at him to join in.

"Neville, my boy, you look well," Mr. Ollivander says as he pulls away to scrutinize him. "Very well indeed."

Neville feels a blush blossom across his cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. You look well yourself."

It's true—the man looks considerably less emaciated than the last time they spoke. Mr. Ollivander turns to Luna and compliments her choice of earrings. She's wearing Neville's favorites, the Dirigible plum ones, today.

After a bit more idle chit-chat, Luna announces that she is off to the Magical Menagerie. Neville, caught off guard by this abrupt proclamation, sends her a pleading look that she ignores.

"I simply must see if they've managed to get any Wonky Borabs in!" she exclaims before flitting out the door.

Neville gives Mr. Ollivander an apologetic glance. "She is, er, very invested in that particular species these days."

Mr. Ollivander merely waves a hand at him. "I understand, dear boy. There are things in this life that we must pursue, no matter how it must seem to others. People once called me crazy for experimenting with new types of wand wood, you know."

Neville nods politely, trying to figure out the best way to segue into the little speech that he spent far too long laboring over. "I'm sure you also understand that Luna is...very special to me, sir."

Mr. Ollivander smiles. "Do I sense impending nuptials for you and the lovely Miss Lovegood?"

"Oh, er, I suppose so, Mr. Ollivander," Nevile says quickly, "but what I was really trying to get at is..." He flounders for a moment, but thankfully, the older man doesn't cut in. He just waits patiently for Neville to finish. "What I'm trying to say is that I really appreciate you looking out for her all those months. You know, at Malfoy Manor. You were a light during a very dark time, and I...I am so grateful that she had you to help her keep the faith."

It isn't the eloquent speech he practiced in front of the mirror, but it feels right. And when Mr. Ollivander, eyes brimming with tears, scoops him in for another hug, he _knows_ that it was right.

...

"Did you and Mr. Ollivander have a nice talk today?" Luna asks, taking her earrings out and setting them on her dresser. When Neville nods, she claps her hands together. "Oh, wonderful! I had so hoped that you would, after my premature departure."

"'Premature'?" Neville repeats. "Hang on, Luna, do you mean to say that you left early on _purpose?" _

Luna has the good grace to look faintly sheepish. "I may have overheard you practicing your thank you speech this morning, and I wanted to give you time to deliver it without me being there."

Neville's mouth drops open. His girlfriend's thoughtfulness renders him speechless, not because she so rarely _is _thoughtful, but because of the way that she was able to read the situation and respond so intuitively.

She laughs softly and plants a kiss on his cheek. "I hope it went as planned."

"It...may have gone a little off-script," Neville confesses, "but I got my point across."

Luna flashes him a radiant smile that still makes his heart pound. "Wonderful."

* * *

WC: 768


End file.
